


sister

by ayuminb, winterslady



Series: Sister [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Cersei gets her Revenge, Alternate Universe - Jon is Summoned to King's Landing, Ambiguous Feelings, Collaboration with Anon, Exhibitionism, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Mildly Dubious Consent, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Shameless Smut, The Sin is Too Real, Voyeurism, see y'all in hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 23:11:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13200585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayuminb/pseuds/ayuminb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterslady/pseuds/winterslady
Summary: Cersei made them do it; it was easier to say that, to believe that, so they did.





	sister

**Author's Note:**

> Let us say Sansa is, by Westeros standards, a legal adult. Also, this is unbeta'd.

When Sansa woke, her handmaiden had sent her to the Queen’s chambers to be fitted for a new dress.

 

It was a good thing too, because the dresses she’d brought south to King’s Landing were all too tight now. She was a woman grown, and the way the tight silks and linens pushed up her breasts rendered her almost indecent. She had been happy that for once the Queen had been kind to her, and seemed to be outfitting her in the finest cloths. Days later, when the dress was prepared, Cersei invited Sansa to her chambers. There Cersei took great care with her, dressing her and even brushing her hair. It was only when Jon Snow, her bastard brother, appeared that Sansa realized that something terrible was afoot.

 

“Jon… I thought you were at the Wall?”

 

*****

 

He could not give her a proper answer, for he knew not the reason for the Queen's summons – all the way from the Wall. Lord Commander Mormont knew even less but, something made his agree to releasing Jon from his vows. Now he was here, among the killers of his father and with the sweet opportunity handed quite literally in a golden platter.

 

 _I can do something now_ , he thought, take Sansa to Robb, show the world he was worthy of at least something. He shifted on his feet, feeling the clothes provided to him both constricting and just wrong; he opened his mouth to answer.

 

"Are you not happy to see your brother, Sansa?"

 

But the Queen talked first.

 

*****

 

 _My half-brother_ , Sansa almost said. But she felt Cersei’s eyes on her and felt uneasy. “I’m delighted, Your Grace,” Sansa said, curtsying to the queen. “It was so kind of you to arrange such a meeting.”

 

But Cersei just laughed. “Yes… _kind_.” The queen’s grin was cruel. “Do you want to know what was _not_ kind?”

 

Sansa shook her head.

 

“When your father and your brothers spread lies all around the realm so they could help Lord Renly and Lord Stannis usurp their rightful king. Do you know _what_ sort of lies they spread about me, Sansa?”

 

“No,” Sansa said, her voice weak. But she did know. And with Jon here, alone with them in the Queen’s chambers, she could start to put together what was happening.

 

“And _you_ , Jon Snow? Do you know what foul lies your father and brothers have spread about me?”

 

*****

 

His sword hand flexed, itching to close around the hilt of Longclaw and strike. But Jon was devoid of weapons and dressed in silks as per the request of the Queen; devoid of means to protect himself and Sansa and if the hulking guard standing outside these chambers told him anything at all – he was better off answering the questions of this foul woman.

 

It didn't help that warning bells began to ring loudly in his head, though he could not say _why_. There was definitely something he should be picking up here, he was sure, but it eluded him—escaping his hands like water through his fingers.

 

"No, Your Grace," he said, very nearly growling but managing to keep his tone even. "No, I don't," even as he said lies after lies, because he _did_ know. The whole fucking realm knew.

 

*****

 

“They say that I have had relations with my brother, that he has sired my children, that they’re bastards,” Cersei paused, “all vile lies, of course.”

 

Sansa swallowed. She looked at Jon out of the corner of her eye, his chin held high in defiance. He was a stupid boy; they should grovel for mercy. “My father and brother are traitors—“ she began, but the queen cut her off.

 

“That they are, but a Lannister _always_ pays their debts. And you two are to help me with that,” Cersei grinned, and took a drink from her challis. “Jon, take off your sister’s clothes.”

 

A chill ran down Sansa’s spine. The Queen had taken great care to have her dressed in the finest of silks. Had the whole point been to put on some sort of show… with her brother?

 

*****

 

 _No_. Certainly, he heard wrong. Cersei fucking Lannister could not have just said that – _that_.

 

 _She must be jesting, surely she jests_ , he thought, frantically. He blinked, and that was as much a reaction as he allowed himself to give; inside, he raged and screamed and fell in pieces because – a part of him already knew it'd be _oh_ so easy to take her gown off. _It unlaces at the front_ , he thought, vaguely, and it pained him that all he had needed to notice that was a single glance.

 

Just the one.

 

"Did you not hear me, Jon?"

 

Another blink, he swallowed the lump in his throat. "I did, Your Grace," it amazed him he still kept an even tone.

 

Next to him, Sansa began to shake; his first instinct is to offer reassuring words—of _course_ , he wouldn't undress her, he wouldn't! But when his left hand was midway to crossing the distance between them, Jon froze; his eyes are locked on the tightly woven lace of her bodice.

 

"Then _do_ it," Cersei snapped, though it was clear she already enjoyed what meager show they were putting up.

 

To defy her – somehow Jon knew death was much too merciful for the Queen's tastes. So, not death, then what would she do, if he refused? He moved, slowly closing the distance separating him from—his _sister_. A step closer, he didn't look into her eyes— _think, Jon think_ —fearing what he'd see. Disgust? Certainly. Fear? Definitely. Resentment, _hatred_ – for him? Gods, but most likely.

 

"Stop," the Queen snapped again, and for a brief moment Jon wondered if that had been all. "You're blocking my view, Jon. I want to _see_ you undress her; step to her side."

 

 _Oh_ , he hadn't realized he'd stepped in front of Sansa. He did as commanded, managed to spare a glance at her anguished face, and whispered, "I'm sorry," before tugging at her laces.

 

*****

 

Cersei wanted her to cry or scream. The woman wanted to _break_ her, Sansa could tell from her smug smile.

 

But Sansa would _not_ give in; she would do what she did best – make the best of it. In their years apart, Jon had grown rather comely. Better her brother than one of the other men Cersei had thought to wed her to… Sansa did not want to be a Lannister. _None of them will have me now_ , she thought happily, _not when I’ve given my virtue to my brother_. She decided she would put on a show just as their queen wanted – she would not scream for it to _stop_ , but for him to continue.

 

“It’s quite alright, Jon,” Sansa said. “Do you need help?”

 

She did her best to smile eagerly, as though she couldn’t wait to be defiled. And if she was being honest, she couldn’t.

 

*****

 

That made him waver, if only a little. "That—" he had to clear his throat "—that's alright, my lady," he avoided her gaze, kept his fingers moving – kept tugging her laces undone. "I can manage."

 

A few steps away, the Queen— _vile woman_ —scoffed. At his subdued tone? Jon didn't care, she couldn't expect him to be _eager_ for this. At his formality? Let her laugh, maybe then she'd grow tired of this and they could – they could _stop_.

 

 _But I am eager, am I not_ , he thought, eyes fixed on the thin shift that was revealed the more he loosened the fabric of her bodice. Sansa took a deep breath and his eyes lifted to the swell of her chest. That… those weren't – _the last time I saw her_ , those weren't.

 

"Should I ask for my guards to help you along, Jon? Perhaps the laces confuse you," it was the thinly veiled threat that did it.

 

With a hard pull, Jon ripped what remained of the bodice, the fabric giving in easily as he pushed it down to her waist. And there he stood, shamefully taking in his sister's partially clothed body.

 

 _Too thin_ , he thought, _the shift is too fucking thin_. The sunlight filtering through the windows made it almost translucent – Jon could see all the soft curves Sansa had lacked as a child, as he saw her last. _She's a child no longer_. And, by the muted stirring in his groin, a part of him certainly appreciated that; her chest heaved and he could not look away, not until her nipples started to become visible.

 

Hastily, perhaps even a bit roughly, he grabbed her hips and turned he to face him properly. Before the Queen could think of complaining, Jon dropped to his knees and finished pulling the gown off, watching it pool at her feet – her legs were as much of a vision as her chest was.

 

He risked a glance at her face—that was a mistake. Her wide eyes and blushing face almost had him pulling back, almost freezing in horror – _what am I doing? Sansa is my sister_. For a moment, he thought she was scared, but then their eyes locked and, _fleetingly_ , he could see her tongue dart out to sweep over her lips.

 

"Do not dally, Jon—" the Queen kept her tone pleasant enough, but the underlying threat remained "—take it all off."

 

*****

 

Sansa was almost ashamed of her nudity, for with her dress on the floor and standing before him only in her linen shift her arousal was betrayed. Her nipples were so hard they almost hurt, reacting unwillingly to his rough hands on her hips. It did not take much time after that for him to pull the linen shift over her head and leave her naked except for the silk stockings Cersei had bought for her, and the smallclothes made of myrish lace. She’d thought them fine when Cersei’s tailor had given them to her. _Exotic_. But now that she realized how little they concealed, Sansa knew Cersei was only playing with her like one played with a doll.

 

“What do you think of your sister like this?”

 

The Queen asked her brother. Sansa could see the lust in her brother’s eyes, but she wasn’t sure how much of that was an act. There was something primal and animalistic in the way he’d torn her gown, like he couldn’t wait to have her… but that did not sound like _Jon_.

 

Feeling the Queen’s eyes on her, Sansa knew it was her duty to play along. _That’s all this is_ , she told herself. One of her hands cupped her breast and with a thumb she caressed her hardened nipple.

 

“She shouldn’t have to touch herself,” the Queen said, and Sansa felt a rush of excitement knowing her brother would soon be touching her.

 

*****

 

His breath caught in his chest, the possibility of putting his hands on Sansa, the thought that he could – _would_. His cock twitched, suddenly the breeches he'd thought too fancy but nice felt suffocating, painfully tight. _Stop this, she's your sister_ , but his hands slid up her thighs, stopping to play with the ribbons holding up her stockings.

 

 _The Queen said to touch her, Jon_ , a mean little voice, at the back of his mind. He wanted to _ignore_ it, but Jon was already standing up, stroking his way up her sides. _Oh but it'd be so easy to rip these too_ , he thought. His sister – beautiful, radiant, her breath caught once his fingers graced over her unattended breast.

 

"Let me," a throaty whisper, he didn't recognize his voice. " _Let_ me, Sansa."

 

She nodded, dropped her hands to grip at the edges of his tunic. Jon took a fortifying breath, and cupped the breast she released. Swept his thumbs over her hardened nipples, _once_ , then again—a third time that wrenched a moan out of both. Then he stopped.

 

"I didn't say you could stop, Jon. Sansa looks like she wants more. I'd hate it if you were to disappoint her."

 

*****

 

The truth was, she did want more. No man had ever touched her, at least not with her _consent_ … and it had never been _loving_. She had been undressed and beaten in front of the court, and she was used to being debased in front of Lannisters… but never so lovingly.

 

The Queen had always been blood thirsty and delighted in Sansa’s humiliations. What was more humiliating for her than to ache for her bastard brother’s cock? In the pit of her stomach, she knew it was wrong… but she would not give Cersei the satisfaction of thinking she had managed to humiliate Sansa, again.

 

She was braver than that.

 

So, Sansa took Jon Snow’s wrist in her hands and brought his spare hand to her cunt. “Don’t disappoint me, Jon,” Sansa said with a pointed look. She had next to no relationship with him, but she hoped she could communicate what he needed to do.

 

*****

 

There it went, his cock twitching again, begging for attention – but it wasn't his time, if ever. _Focus on her now_ , his left hand kept playing with her breasts, pinching and stroking her nipples so no pain remained when he became too enthusiastic. The other stroked once through the fabric of her smallclothes, heat pooling in his gut as he felt them damp already. _Gods_ , he thought, slipping his hand under the silk to touch her wet cunt. She wanted this? Jon lifted his eyes to hers once more, meeting her determined gaze.

 

Searching, thinking perhaps – _I'm imagining this, certainly_. Sansa; sweet, ladylike Sansa would not.

 

"Jon."

 

It was only a whisper, followed by the tilt of her hips into his hand – urging, encouraging. Her pupils blew wide enough that there was barely any hint of blue left in her eyes. But it was _enough_. Jon—he'd no experience in this, no _practice_ , but he'd heard some things and had had a look that one time he'd visited the brothel at Wintertown.

 

His hand moved from her chest to wrap around her waist – he pulled Sansa up close, bracing her weight, and slipped the fingers of his free hand through the folds of her cunt.

 

"Stop," again the Queen snapped, only she sounded kind of triumphant. "Jon, did I not tell you I wanted to watch?"

 

"Yes, Your Grace."

 

He made to step away, but Cersei's next words froze him – for only a second.

 

"Stand behind her, so you both may face me properly – do not dally, Jon."

 

He did as asked. Moved to stand behind Sansa, and turned them both to face the Queen. Because he loathed the thought of the woman giving the order, Jon took his sister's smallclothes off himself, ripping them in the process. Then he went to continue.

 

Cersei hummed in contemplation. "Lift one of her legs, dear boy – show me your sister's cunt," she smirked. "Let me watch you give her pleasure."

 

*****

 

Jon forced her legs apart and her flirtations suddenly felt much more real; she couldn’t help but push her cunt into his hand.

 

His touches were so light, but her desire was burning hot and wet and Sansa wanted his hands all over her. The Queen was in front of her, her eyes fixated on her cunt; in her cups, Cersei seemed satisfied with the view. Sansa wished it was just the two of them, and so she closed her eyes and imagined she was Queen Naerys and Jon was Aemon the Dragonknight. Sansa had all sorts of dreams in the past of being taken by some chivalrous hero; Jon was no knight, but in the clothes Cersei had dressed him in, he made a worthy substitute.

 

Jon’s thumb circled her clit and she moaned, leaning back into Jon’s chest. She could feel his loose curls brush against her face and sighed, _remembering_ whom it was. Except she didn’t mind, she would rather be defiled by a Stark than by a Lannister; she would rather bear Stark children and keep her direwolf cloaks. She had _learned_ during her time in King’s Landing. When Jon’s fingers finally curl inside her cunt, Sansa doesn’t mind the pain of it, she is wet and _willing_.

 

“You seem to like being your brother’s whore,” Cersei said, her voice cutting.

 

Sansa nodded; she knew her courtesies.  She knew how Cersei wanted her to act like her own living doll. “Thank you for this, Your Grace.”

 

“Bend over, Sansa,” the Queen said.

 

And so she did.

 

*****

 

Jon had been enjoying it, shameless bastard that he was, he'd been _enjoying_ having his sister writhing in his arms, hips moving against his hand as he fucked her with his fingers. He'd enjoyed her breathy little whimpers, and moans – the way her cunt soaked his hand. _You're a sick, lustful bastard_ , he thought, before the Queen's words paralyzed him.

 

Before Sansa went willingly to follow her commands. A part of him wanted to stop her, tell his gentle sister she needed _not_ obey such filthy orders. Wanted to tell her he'd protect her, and then he wanted to laugh _because_ —he couldn't. Sansa shook, bent over a settee; her body angled in such a way that Cersei was still afforded the view she wanted. And _Jon_ – Jon could only stare, at her pert ass, her dripping cunt.

 

_I'd like to taste her._

 

"What do you think, Jon? Pretty, isn't she?" It may be the wine, but suddenly the Queen looked angry. "Such a beautiful sister."

 

"Yes, Your Grace."

 

Cersei leaned back onto her chair, looking smug once again. "How would you like to proceed? Straight to fucking? You boys like that."

 

He wouldn't know, he was as much a maid as Sansa. Jon didn't _want_ to say straight to fucking might hurt her, vindictive as she was, the Queen could very well order him to do just that; instead he said, "I'd like to taste her cunt, Your Grace."

 

He wouldn't give the Queen the satisfaction of seeing his eagerness. Jon stared at Sansa, met the shocked glance she spared him over her shoulder; let his sister know at the very least he'd like to make it as good as possible for _her_.

 

Cersei hummed again, sipping at her wine. "Go on then."

 

Jon squeezed Sansa's ass, trying to rationalize the sudden need to lick at his sister between her legs. Sansa shivered, and her cunt – _pretty_ little thing, it quivered. He dropped to his knees, used his thumbs to spread her folds and delved his tongue into her.

 

*****

 

Jon’s words sent a shiver down Sansa’s spine, she was sure she wanted to get straight to the fucking as the Queen had suggested. To get it over with she told herself, but Jon’s tongue was better than she could have imagined. She was bent over the settee, but she had to brace herself with her arms as her knees felt suddenly weak. To make matters worse, Cersei laughed at the fuss she was making; she could likely see how wet Sansa was, how _eager_. Sansa wanted to be a proper lady and wipe the emotions from her face, but she couldn’t without begging Jon to stop, and, _well_ , she couldn’t ask for that.

 

Just when she thought she had gotten a hold of herself, Jon pushed two fingers into her; it barely hurt, but it was a tight fit. His fingers curled against her, it didn’t take more than a few moments of that for her to peak. Jon pulled his hands away and steadied himself, Sansa herself felt some relief but could not manage to get back to her feet. Instead she remained with her legs spread wide and her cunt exposed, exhausted against the settee. She had never enjoyed riding or running around, she hated to get all _sweaty_ … but she didn’t mind this sort of exertion, even if she was quite a mess.

 

“Quite the view, isn’t it?” Cersei asked. “How would you like to defile your little sister next?”

 

*****

 

 _I'd like it very fucking much_ , he thought, unbidden.

 

Jon supposed he should be shocked at that, but after all he'd done to Sansa, well – it was only a matter of time. The animalistic need he had—to grab her hips and plunge his cock into her cunt was _strong_. He stood up, eyes fixed on the delightful view – because Cersei was right, it was. _I want this, I really do_ , and by the heated if tired look Sansa gave him over her shoulder, so did she. The jolt of pleasure made him shudder; _oh_ , but he could gladly admit he'd always craved Sansa's approval, the sister who kept him at arm's length—her _affection_.

 

Of course the Gods would be this cruel, to give him what he wanted in such a twisted way.

 

His hands moved to undo the laces keeping his breeches in place, almost before he could consciously make the decision. Jon focused on Sansa's face, her sated expression, her dilating pupils when he freed his cock.

 

"I'll take that as a yes," the Queen's smug tone barely registered. "Go on, _Jon_ , fuck her nice and slow."

 

 _This will ruin her_ , he took himself in hand, stroking once because Sansa looked at him with thinly veiled anticipation as she bit her bottom lip _and_ – suddenly Jon couldn't tell if he wanted her to take him in her mouth or her cunt. This would ruin her, destroy any chance of a proper match—

 

"Jon," Sansa whimpered, pleading with him over her shoulder and wiggling her ass at him.

 

—and that was exactly what she wanted, he suddenly realized. A match now meant she'd be forced to take someone else's name, they could even make her a _Lannister_ , would have to bear them children. Sansa knew this, that was why. The thought filled him with renewed determination. Grabbing her waist, Jon urged her to turn around, get as comfortable on the settee as possible.

 

"This might hurt," he whispered, looking into her eyes intently – willing her to understand, _I won't let anyone else have you_ , Jon leaned in to place a kiss on her lips. _I'll protect you_ , "I promise, I'll be gentle."

 

"How very thoughtful of a bastard born of lust," Cersei scoffed. "Aren't you a _lucky_ little thing, Sansa? Your brother wants to give you pleasure as well, not just take his own."

 

*****

 

Sansa almost forgot Cersei was there until she spoke. She had been so captivated by the sight of her brother’s hard cock in his hand, and then his soft kiss. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d thought of her _before_ now when he’d pleasured himself, he certainly seemed eager enough for it. Despite his promises to be gentle, she wouldn’t have minded something a little rougher.

 

“Very lucky,” Sansa echoed as Jon lifted one of her legs onto the settee, leaving her even more exposed.

 

Jon ran his hands over her wet cunt once again and Sansa wanted to scream at him. She wanted him inside her this time, she wanted to be thoroughly defiled by someone who shared her blood; before she could lose what little composure she had left, Jon eased his way into her. It stung, but she was wet and desperate and with a few thrusts the pain had waned already.

 

Sansa no longer had any _shame_. Cersei had seen her come around her brother’s fingers and seen her push her cunt into his face desperate for more. So, when her hand moved underneath her and onto her clit, it was with little concern for who could see. Her hands mimicked what Jon had done before as her brother kept thrusting into her from behind. She no longer tried to stifle her moans – _perhaps_ , she even liked that Cersei was watching.

 

The Queen was impulsive and stupid, but one day she would realize her folly at letting Jon Snow deflower the key to the north, ruining all of her plans.

 

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, Lady Stark,” Cersei said.

 

“I am,” Sansa said, and with that Jon thrust into her more forcefully than before with a loud moan, as though he couldn’t contain himself.

 

“Is there anything else you want him to do to you?” Cersei asked.

 

“Yes,” Sansa sucked in her breathe before she dared say it, “I want him to spend his seed inside me.”

 

*****

 

It felt like coming out of a haze, hearing Sansa say that.

 

His fingers dug into her curve of her hips, with enough force that he knew it'd leave marks – a part of him felt satisfaction at the thought, the part that urged his hips to move faster and harder and _fuck_ , fuck, _SansaSansaSansa_. The part that savored the wave of unadulterated pleasure at the sight of her hand slipping underneath her body, at the brush of her fingertips over his cock as it slid in and out of her.

 

The rest of him was trying to think why it should bother him, make him _stop_ ; the thought of spilling his seed in her – _something_ , tickling the very edges of his mind. _Bastard_ , he thought, _I could put a bastard in her_. Jon understood now, the folly of the Queen, her intent to humiliate them— _Sansa_ , had robbed her of a great advantage. But a _bastard_ —would that be taking it too far? He slowed down his movements to a gentle rocking motion; Sansa's cunt fluttered deliciously around his cock and he needed to _think_.

 

"Lady Sansa wants you to spill your bastard seed in her," Cersei's voice helped clear his head, a little.

 

 _I heard_ , he wanted to snap, loud and clear. Sansa kept playing with her clit in the same way he did moments before and _Gods_ , but every time she brushed his cock he just wanted to lose himself in her and just let _fucking_ go. He already took her maidenhead, shouldn't that be enough? He stopped _. Do I want it to be enough?_

 

"Jon?"

 

_No, I don't._

 

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he lifted her up until her back was pressed flush against his chest. Barely a second, Jon switched places, pressed his back on the settee – once again, his sister was in full display for the Queen, only _now_ , by the way her cunt fluttered eagerly around his cock, Sansa didn't care. One hand went to steady her hips as he resumed his thrusts, slow and deep, because he didn't think he'd last much longer.

 

"Her Grace wants a show, we mustn't forget that," he said, whispered really, free hand moving to her breasts, kneading the soft flesh and circling her nipples; he pressed his chin onto her shoulder, if only to be able to gaze down at her body. "Touch yourself, sister, I want you to peak with me."

 

Sansa moaned and shuddered and wasted no time in getting her hands to work. A _vision_ —almost too much, and with a growl began fucking her in earnest. Soon, the only sounds echoing in the chambers were those coming from them, moans and needy whispers and the sound their bodies coming together. Their rhythm broke, then; Jon felt the rush of his oncoming release – Sansa's head fell back onto his shoulder, a broken rendition of his name tumbling past her lips.

 

"Jon," she said again, "I want… I _want_ —"

 

Her breath hitched, and the very second her cunt squeezed around his cock, Jon felt himself burst. And after what felt like an _eternity_ , after collapsing onto the cushions and feeling Sansa melt on top of him – _after_ , Jon could feel his seed leaking out of her, onto his thighs.

 

"I don't recall giving you permission to spend your seed inside her, Jon Snow."

 

His sister shuddered atop him, muscles fluttering, so it took him some time to focus his gaze on the Queen; who walked towards a chest of drawers to retrieve what looked like silk scarves, then she moved in their direction. A part of him told him to cover Sansa’s modesty, still, after all that had happened; the rest of Jon was too exhausted to really try.

 

“ _Sansa_ , dear child,” Cersei looked at them with thinly veiled contempt, but also an undeniable satisfaction as she handed over the silk scarves. “We are not done, yet. Tie your brother up to the settee, his _disobedience_ needs to be punished.”

 

And then, it was Jon who shuddered.


End file.
